<TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0" xmlns:py="http://codespeak.net/lxml/objectify/pytype" py:pytype="TREE"><text><body><div type="translation" n="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg033.perseus-eng2" xml:lang="eng"><div type="textpart" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg033.perseus-eng2" subtype="section" n="13"><p>
You have won, then, lucky man, and
have gained the Olympic crown—nay, you have
taken Babylon or stormed the citadel of Sardis; you
shall have the horn of Plenty and fill your pails with
pigeon’s milk. It is indeed fitting that in return for
all your labours you should have the very greatest of
blessings, in order that your crown may not be mere
leaves; that your salary should be set at a considerable figure and paid you when you need it, without
ado; that in other ways you should be honoured
beyond ordinary folk; that you should get respite
from your former exertions and muddiness and
running about and loss of sleep, and that in accordance
with your prayer you should “sleep with your legs
stretched out,”<note xml:lang="eng" n="v.3.p.435.n.1"><p>A proverbial expression for ‘“taking it easy.”   </p></note> doing only what you were engaged
for at the outset and what you are paid for. That
ought to be the way of it, Timocles, and there would
be no great harm in stooping and bearing the yoke
if it were light and comfortable and, best of all, gilded'
But the case is very different—yes, totally different.
There are thousands of things insupportable to a free
man that take place even after one has entered the
household. Consider for yourself, as you hear a list
of them, whether anyone could put up with them
who is even to the slightest degree cultured.


</p></div><div type="textpart" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg033.perseus-eng2" subtype="section" n="14"><p>
I shall
begin, if you like, with the first dinner which will be


<pb n="v.3.p.437"/>

given you, no doubt, as a formal prelude to your
future intimacy.</p><p>
Very soon, then, someone calls, bringing an invitation to the dinner, a servant not unfamiliar with
the world, whom you must first propitiate by slipping
at least five drachmas into his hand casually so as not
to appear awkward. He puts on airs and murmurs:
“Tut, tut! I take money from you?” ane: “Heracles!
I hope it may never come to that!"; but in the end
he is prevailed upon and goes away with a broad grin
at your expense. Providing yourself with clean
clothing and dressing yourself as neatly as you can,
you pay your visit to the bath and go, afraid of
getting there before the rest, for that would be
gauche, just as to come last would be ill-mannered. So
you wait until the middle moment of the right time,
and then go in. He receives you with much distinction, and someone takes you in charge and gives
you a place at table a little above the rich man, with
perhaps two of his old friends.

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